Willa's gone.

We keep saying it — Willa's gone, Willa's gone — but the mantra won't stick. We run into another person rocked by the loss, and we lapse into the language of disbelief: "I can't believe that Willa's gone."

It's fair to say that most readers of Cleveland's Plain Dealer never knew Willa Knight. It's just as fair to say that's a real shame. She worked in my newspaper's cafeteria for 12 years, but that doesn't begin to explain the grief that silenced reporters with tongues sharp enough to slice limestone into shards.

Willa was a large woman in every way, a whole lotta love barely contained in a 5-foot-8-inch frame. She was the kind of person who made you like yourself more, which makes you more likable to everyone else. That was her plan, of course. She knew exactly what she was doing every time she told us that God loves us and she did, too.

"I am blessed," she'd say day in and day out. "I am truly blessed to be alive." She'd nod in the direction of whoever was standing in front of her and add, "And so are you."

Willa died Labor Day in her sleep at age 46. She had gone to the emergency room the night before, complaining of stomach pains, but the doctor said she was fine and sent her home.

A few hours later, about 2:30 in the morning, she sent the last of her ubiquitous text messages, this one to her brother in the Navy. He is stationed in New Orleans, but she knew he was leaving for Houston because of Hurricane Gustav. She wanted to know whether he was all right.

Hours later, she was gone.

This has rocked her family, and in Willa's world, "family" includes not only her parents and nine siblings and other relatives but also every last one of us who took for granted that Willa always would be part of our days.

Willa left us so soon after Cleveland lost two other great black women: Councilwoman Fannie Lewis and Rep. Stephanie Tubbs Jones. In her own way, Willa was a lot like them, and she, too, deserves more than a small death-notice square.

She didn't care about color or creed, and she was fierce in her love for the community. She once was gently chastised for hugging employees during peak mealtimes, but she pooh-poohed any notion that she should slow in the love. Instead, she just sped up the hugging.

After Willa died, I learned things I wish I'd known while she was still alive. She worked nights as an office cleaning lady, and she always said a prayer with a co-worker who gave her rides home.

Willa's dear friend Daina Schweikert worked with her in the cafeteria and drove her to and from work, but only after repeated arguments that it made no sense for Willa to take the bus. Willa wasn't one to ask for help, and she never complained about working 12-hour days.

"I do believe my sister worked herself to death," her sister Erika K. Cannady told me.

Willa also had a habit of stealing away friends. She didn't mean to. It just happened.

"I had to quit introducing her to my friends," Erika said, laughing. "I kept losing them to her. They would tell me, 'Sorry, Erika, but Willa's just so much nicer than you.'"

Ditto, Daina said.

There are conflicting stories about Willa's prowess at the pool table. Daina swears Willa could beat anyone, any day. Our friend Chuck Yarborough says that just ain't true, but he loved describing the time Willa played pool in a bar with bras draped over valence curtains and a big Confederate flag hanging on the wall.

"She walked in, and five minutes later, she owned the place."

Most of us didn't know until Tuesday that Willa had died. It's a testament to Willa that so many did exactly what she would have wanted, which is trek straight to the cafeteria to be with people whose hearts were breaking. There they were: Mary, Mike, Arlene, Barb, Daina, Mike and Mary — all of them looking as if they'd just lost their best friend.

We did what Willa would have wanted us to do.

One by one, we gave Willa's family a Willa hug.

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland and the author of two books from Random House: "Life Happens" and "… and His Lovely Wife." To find out more about Connie Schultz (cschultz@plaind.com) and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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